


Dragon Age Body Parts

by Maybethings



Series: May Be Promptin' [156]
Category: Dragon Age
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Drabble Collection, F/M, Fourth Wall, prompt fics
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-01-14
Updated: 2013-01-14
Packaged: 2017-11-29 04:00:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 320
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/682520
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Maybethings/pseuds/Maybethings
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A collection of drabbles written in response to prompts themed off parts of the body.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. (Alistair/f!Brosca) - Feet

The foot in Alistair’s lap is short and broad, with nails hacked ragged by the dull edge of a blade. “Better to kick people with,” Mina shrugs, and it’s a rare man who can tell where bravado begins and embarrassment ends for her.

She’s no small and dainty maiden. Well, small, yes. But the rest of her is strength and iron and thorns. He works her callused, rough soles with the pads of his fingers, and she leans on his shoulder in boneless relief.

He can’t help it. He pinches one of her toes. Her eyes fly open in shock.

The next morning Sten asks Alistair what manner of blade gashed his chin, and for some reasons both Wardens end up blushing and stammering.


	2. (Hawke/Merrill) - Fingers

Among the mail from the Viscount and the mages and the Nevarran princes who probably don’t exist, Byrne finds an envelope that’s hardly an envelope, smelling strongly of drainwater and elfroot.

He cracks it open to find a little white daisy, kept from wilting by just a touch of green magic, and Merrill’s tiny, too-careful handwriting.

 _For good luck,_ it says. Just that.

Byrne wears the daisy in his buttonhole all day. It’s just right.


	3. (Sten/f!Mahariel) - Feet

The couch is just big enough for one modestly-proportioned woman, never mind adding a large, long-limbed man to the mix. But somehow Brenna and Piotr make it fit, draped over one another in patently absurd ways.

His naked feet have ended up in her lap; his toes are remarkably spindly and slender, the second longer than the first. She works one in both hands, kneading the tension out through the tips of his toes. He doesn’t respond except for a long, slow blink, and then he closes his eyes, leaning into the couch back, the jabbering of the TV forgotten.

She smirks. The big lunk has an unexpected softness to him, and she treasures the trust he has placed in her.


End file.
